Obligatus Silver
by Verboten Byacolate
Summary: SoulxMaka collection. He tends to reach for her in the madness.
1. dark lines

I am going to attempt to write a collection with the list of prompts my beloved _**TamanoRyu**_ has so kindly written for me. Please join me on this journey of insanity and rapture and all that is Soul/Maka.  
**Prompt**: dark lines.

* * *

She keeps her trepidation buried deep as her fingers slide over his scar. Five years later, and Maka has never forgiven herself though Soul hasn't ever held her accountable. And he says so. Which is why she pretends to have a nonchalant attitude towards the whole ordeal.

Soul lifts her fingers, kissing them, biting them softly, teasing. "You're not sleeping."

"Neither are you."

He provides her with a toothy grin, releasing her hand and tapping his chest. "I can't when you touch me like that. It's too suggestive."

"Please tell me you're not getting any ideas." She scowled, her eyes glinting with the ever-impending Maka-chop threat. Soul put up his hands between them in defense.

"You were the one who snuck into my room with that dumb nightmare excuse," he replied. "I'm just stating the facts. Thought you were Blair at first."

"Is that an insult?" she asked indignantly, her scowl intensifying.

"Nah. You'd know if it was."

Maka shut her eyes, promptly ending their stupid conversation in an attempt to sleep. She certainly wasn't feeling guilty anymore. Stupid jerk.

* * *

For now, her soul is untroubled. In sleep, he can feel her that much easier, dropping her lines of defence in his presence. Soul sighs to himself, and lets go of his own Maka-centric anxieties.

His scar still tingles at the memory of her touch.


	2. smiley faces

**Prompt**: smiley faces.

* * *

"MAKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Soul stared at his reflection in the mirror, turning white as a ghost.

"What do you want?" she called back from the kitchen. Soul gripped the counter with white knuckles before shoving himself off, stalking out of the bathroom to find her.

"What do you _think_ I want?" he snapped upon entering the warm, fragrant kitchen. He tried to ignore the scent of bacon, wiping the drool from his lip mindlessly. Maka didn't bother turning to look at him, which unravelled Soul's already-frazzled nerves. "Look at my face!"

"Ah. Sorry about that," she said, still not allowing the muscles in her neck to pull her head around to look at his current dilemma. "I don't know what could have come over me. Oh, and be careful next time you let Blair sleep on your bed naked. If you lose any more blood, you'll become anemic. Or you could die. And then I'll have to get a new partner."

Maka took her spatula to a pancake and flipped it absentmindedly. Soul, beyond the point of irked, grabbed his meister by the shoulder and wheeled her around. He pointed a deliberate finger at his forehead. "Why is Shinigami-sama's kanji written here? In permanent marker?"

"... To prove your loyalty?"

Soul tried very hard not to let her go and slam his head against the nearest brick wall.

"Why is it decorated with **pink highlighter hearts**?"

Maka scratched her cheek. "To _further_ prove your loyalty?"

Weapon stared incredulously at meister. Maka couldn't take the thick silence. "... But you don't mind the smiley faces on your chin, right? They're kinda cute-- COOL! I meant cool!"

The boy couldn't take it. He glared at his technician. "Great. How are you going to _fix it_?"

"Only time and plenty of showering will erase Sharpie," she said briskly, pushing at his shoulders. "Now, let me go, or the pancakes are going to burn."

* * *

Black Star stared. He stared _hard_.

"... Does this mean you love Shinigami-sama more than me?!"


	3. things not said

**Prompt**: things not said.  
To my anonymous reviewer, Mikki-sama: I totally know what you mean-- I love those butterflies. Thank you for your reviews!

* * *

This was okay. This was natural. For them, it was nothing inexcusable.

She kissed him first, and it came as no surprise to them when nothing changed. In fact, she wasn't even sure he knew she'd done it. It was a spur of the moment thing-- before their final fight with Chrona, in the dark of the underground, he was in her fists, clenched stiffly in preperation. He had muttered something to her, feeling the tightening of her fingers, and she did it. Maka pressed her lips against the cool steel for a split second. In the dark, no one saw. And Soul had never mentioned it afterwords, so she assumed he did not know. And that was fine.

It didn't bother her, because she knew that nothing as small as a kiss could change their concrete bond. Such a bond that was so strong, Maka thought, that words were not even needed. They were close enough to just _know_. Even though Soul was a guy. A dense guy. It didn't matter, because they were close.

Soul didn't know any better. They were always touching, so it was completely natural. When she wielded him in battle, it was no different from holding hands. He thought nothing of it. And neither, apparently, did she. She let him take her hand-- held hers own out to him without considering the implications behind it. She didn't squawk and squibble when he put his arm around her, and when she kissed him, (oh, he knew, and how could he have missed it? It was chaste, and soft as hell, but he had felt it, and hadn't minded one bit) she never brought it up later, so he assumed it was nothing.

And he wondered if it would mean the same nothing if he ever kissed her back.

* * *

Somehow, Marie knew immediately what had happened when Soul and Maka came to class ten minutes later than usual-- the girl, a red-faced mass of fluster and fury, the boy with a red imprint of a hand across his cheek, hands shoved deep into his pockets. She held them both after class for tardiness, and spent the time questioning them on her hunch.

Womens' intuition, she said.

"I think Maka and I have a communication problem."

* * *

**I've got a question. If one enjoys my fic enough to fave and/or watch it, why is it that one does not review? I realize that I shouldn't be requesting reviews; Soul Eater isn't my creation, and I take no credit, but I'm a n00b, and constructive criticism is helpful love. I'm very greatful to those of you who HAVE reviewed. My heart goes out to you.  
-Bya**


	4. colored paper

Guess who actually had to do math for this drabble? And then, guess who actually _enjoyed_ it?  
To anonymous taoT-sama: "Obligatus" is the Latin word meaning "bound" or "under obligation." I view Maka and Soul's relationship as one that is "bound," as they are to one another. Silver-- you may interpret as you wish. Even I'm not sure. It's probably Soul's hair. Any suggestions...? (XD)  
**Prompt:** coloured paper. (because my _**TamanoRyu**_ thinks she's European, silly girl.)

* * *

Soul sat quietly at Maka's side. She lay in deep sleep, arms still, chest rising and falling with every gentle breath. Soul looked up at her from his hands for the thousandth time that hour and smiled. He placed the thirteenth and final golden paper crane between the two knobby hills that were her blanketed knees. It was the only place left in the room not flooded with colored parchment.

"On to green," he said to himself, lifting a flimsy celery-colored sheet from his bag. Thirteen green cranes left to fold and he could go home. On the other side of the window, the sky had darkened to a deep orange, bordering violet. Soon he would walk alone to an empty, quiet apartment. He would make his dinner and eat it in silence at a desolate kitchen table. Or maybe, since Maka wasn't there to Maka!chop him for doing so, he would eat in the equally empty living room. He could stay up late again and watch television. The thought quickly lost its mystique because he realized it was Friday. What idiot would get excited at the prospect of sneaking in extra TV time on a Friday?

And somehow, knowing that he _wouldn't _be at school tomorrow, and his meister _wouldn't _be there in the morning for him to drag out into the fresh air for basketball. He had nothing to look forward to until after school on Monday.

This in mind, as Soul glanced around for a place to lay his first green crane, he decided that for now he would fold a little slower.

For the past week, he had put off the origami. He was involuntarily dragged into Tsubaki's plot, wherein she, Black Star, Chrona, Death the Kid, and the Thompson sisters were to fold one thousand paper cranes for Maka's health. The ninja demon weapon had meticulously calculated the number of cranes each person would fold, but her numbers skewed drastically once she discovered how long it took Kid to fold a perfect origami bird. And though Patty was enthusiastic at the prospect of the endeavor, just after folding a quarter of her share, she began to use the paper to create a giant origami giraffe. Liz's seventh crane gave her a paper cut, and she refused to fold any more until her poor pinky could heal. The trio truly distressed Tsubaki.

Luckily, Spirit had thrown himself into the project for "his Maka," and picked up their slack in a matter of hours.

Soul progressed on his share of 200 cranes. To be honest, he'd really been folding when he sat in front of the television all those nights. He had already gone through a batch of cerulean and pink-brown plaid when it had occurred to him that, as long as they were relying on luck, he might as well do more than just fold. So, in sloppy kanji, he scrawled a tiny "Health" in each and every paper center-- 174 sheets clean, 26 pre-folded.

However, for the past few days he had neared completion after leaving Shibusen's infirmary, at his new silent home, and though they filled his mind while he was folding, their magic wore off when he lay awake in bed, staring through the open doorways to her empty room.

So today, while he finished with the very last of his share, the green that completed the entire project, he wanted to sit in her presence. Soul silently urged the cranes to gaze upon the girl whose luck they were going to improve.

The first completed bird he had laid on her chest, and the second as well, but as the third neared completion, he was ready for a new location. He looked about the room. Kid's ultra-perfect yellow symmetrical wonder sat across from her line of vision on the nurse's cabinet. Patty's mass of giraffe-crane affection towered at the foot of Maka's bed. Liz's few rode the monstrosity's back. Tsubaki's pastel birds were on the floor in the corner of the room, and gave an air of realistic, traditional grace while Black Star's loud oranges, blues, and pinks were tossed idly about the room, mixed in with the Death Scythe's darker reds, grays, and blacks.

Soul had taken the liberty of adorning her bed.

"If you had bigger boobs, I could fit more between your chest," he said, chuckling to himself. "But never mind. I don't mind that you have a tiny rack."

Soul reached over and touched her hair. It wasn't anything special-- blonde borderline light brown. Not silky, as she hadn't taken a proper shower in over a week. But it was nice. He slid her hair free of it pigtailish confines and combed it out with nimble fingers. Once the strands had seemingly dyed the pillow a lackluster gold, he placed her third celery crane among the sea of blonde.

"May luck reach you quicker this way," he muttered quietly.

* * *

Sid halted Nygus by the arm, and gave her the closest thing to a garish grin he could muster. "Give him another ten minutes. He's only got ten cranes to go."


	5. envy

I have bribed _**TamanoRyu**_ into giving me a bunch of new prompts. I now have over 5 dozen to go. Rejoice! XD  
Female!Chrona ahoy. Learn to deal.  
**Prompt**: Envy

* * *

Soul's mounting frustration with Maka began the minute Stein tugged her shirt well above her stomach and left his mark with a Sharpie. The lines remained in Soul's dreams for days, and in living with the girl, he knew that the marker had stayed soaked in her skin for the better part of a week.

He was greatful to Chrona, of course, when she decided to be another of Maka's protectors. Having more of them around made him sleep better at night. However, he didn't exactly appreciate every ounce of Maka's spare time and affection being swept away by the other girl's trepidation. Really, Soul thought. Chrona must know her way around Shibusen right now. In fact, for all the times she'd been taken around by his meister, she could probably map out all of Death City. And still, she continued to take up a large place in Maka's heart-- space that, at one time, had belonged almost completely to Soul.

And since their Stein encounter, more and more people had begun cramming themselves into Maka's life; Blair, Kid, Patty, Liz, Chrona, Stein himself, Marie, Justin, and what seemed to be a dwindling, reoccurring relationship with her father... There were others that he could name. The list could go on. But the fact remained that Maka just didn't have the time for Soul that she used to.

And the scythe wasn't too happy. It was time to make it _his_ turn to keep Maka to himself. Soul surmised quickly that he may have to play dirty to get his time in.

* * *

"Eeeeh? Sick?"

Soul nodded slightly. "Yeah. I think I caught the bug that's floating around." He leaned against the door exhaustedly for effect. The weapon gave his meister a _go on without me_ look. "Did you have plans today?"

Maka scratched at her head, thinking. "Um... no, I don't think so."

Yes!

"Ah... oh no. I had told Marie-sensei that I would help her with a neating chart for the new students..."

No!

"That's... cool," Soul said, trying as he might to mask his irritation. He gave a hacking cough, and then another, and after the third he held up his finger to Maka as if to say "just let me cough out my lung, I'll push you out the door in a minute."

"You don't sound too good." Maka sighed, and apparently making up her mind about something, took him by the arm and pushed him onto his bed. "I'll reschedule with Marie-sensei tomorrow. Today, I'll nurse you." She left the room, only to reenter the next second. "Do you want porridge or soup?"

Soul covered his mouth to hide his borderline-smirking grin. "Tea."

_Hook, line, and sinker._

* * *

"Blair wants to nurse you too!" the scantily clad cat woman meowed, leaping on top of Soul, her lady-parts bouncing everywhere. Through the fountain of blood, he glimpsed a very nonplussed-turned-furious scythe technician slam a mug of coffee on his desk and storm out of the room.

"I've changed my mind! Apparently, Marie-sensei needs my help more than you do!"

Soul reached out a hand of retrieval to her retreating form... and promptly dropped it on account of unconsciousness. Massive blood loss tends to do that.

* * *

**P.S. I really enjoy writing for you guys. You're awesome. X3 Thank you very much for everything. And a huuuge thank you to _Mikki05_. Everyone, please see the bottom of my profile for a link to her amazing, flattering "smiley faces" sketches. (Moul and Saka are waiting to be born, the impatient buggers. XD)  
-Bya**


	6. detail

**Prompt**: detail.

* * *

His original intent was purely innocent.

Soul and Maka had been sent overseas for a very foreign kishin egg. Justin was _supposed _to meet them for the battle, and had not. Unfortunately for the two, the kishin escaped, and once Justin HAD appeared, Maka (none too kindly) assigned the capable weapon potrol duty. Meanwhile, she and Soul dragged themselves around the large city in search of an inn.

Upon finding proper accomodations for Shinigami's followers, they discovered that they didn't quite have the foreign budget for three seperate sleeping quarters; all they could afford through currency exchange (and a lot of miscommunication) was one double room. After Maka and Soul had settled, the weapon went to check on Justin, and the meister closed herself in the bathroom for a long-awaited shower. It was eleven P.M.

This was where the day ended and the night began.

Soul reentered the room muddy, grass-stained, and hungry as hell, for after coming upon Justin in battle with the kishin (and fighting alongside the qualified weapon, and beating the enemy down, and promptly thrusting himself in a very cool light), the blond cretin grabbed the soul and gulped it down after a very long, exhuberant itadakimasu. Soul was left gaping at the religious man, and when he snapped himself out of it, he stalked in a state of semi-pissyness back to the inn.. on a route Justin didn't know exsisted to a place he didn't know was their nightly base. (Soul's personal brand of justice.) The staff at the inn gave him odd looks and whispered in unknown tongues behind their hands. Soul looked down, realizing just how filthy he was. Dirt really came up easily in this place. He took the empty stairs up to their room to avoid the stares.

Soul turned on the light and grimaced slightly upon finding that his mere touch left a brown smudge on the switch. Maka would definitely kill him if he got anything else dirty... He needed to at least wash his hands. But, he noticed immediately, the bathroom was already occupied by the walking Maka!chop. He couldn't use their bathroom. However, he wasn't exactly willing to walk back downstairs to the lobby's restroom where those counter girls twittered about his state of cleanliness in gibberishanese. So maybe he could sneak past Maka while she was in the shower and at least wash his hands so he could grab clothes for his own bathing ritual.

A very good idea, he thought at the time. He was sneaky. He could be ninja-like. He'd heard BlackStar yell out the way of the assassin enough times to know how to tiptoe around certain death.

_Get in, wash hands, get out._

So, very quietly, Soul Eater slid the cool metal of the bathroom doorknob to the left and set a silent foot into the slightly steamy room.

_Get in, wash hands, get out._

All was well as the scythe quickly crossed over behind the two-foot barrier between the sink and the toilet, hiding him from the shower's view. He turned the faucet on low, slipped the soap bar between his fingers for a few seconds (it was already out of its wrapper... must Maka really wash her hands before showering? Weirdo shorty.), and rinsed. And it was all good.

However... for some reason Soul's brain did not yet comprehend, the room was eerily silent when he turned his faucet off. It became all too clear when the short _clinkclinkclink_ of the shower curtain being pulled to the side grated on his ears like a twisted symphony playing his death just for fun. And, just to be fair, Soul tried not to peek. Really, he did. The boy shut his eyes, covered them with his hands and everything. Even as he heard the slapping of her feet against the wet floor stop abruptly, he felt around the wall with one hand until he found the towel rack, and tossed one in her general direction. And though he tried his best to make ammends with his own gibberish, Soul knew that the Chop would definitely come. It was just a matter of time.

Apparently, she was too traumitized by the fact that he exsisted in this private space to magically whip out a book from no where and stick it halfway through his skull. After about ten seconds of this silence, Soul realized that he probably would have preferred the Maka!chop.

"M-Maka... ah... I'm sorry... I was just dirty... this is so uncool... I needed to wash my hands... and... girls were whispering... swear I didn't see anything..."

He heard her shift, and mumble, "Really?"

"Honest to Shinigami-sama!" Soul replied, nodding furiously behind his hands.

"Well, g-good!" Maka bent over to pick up the towel he'd tossed a foot away from her. She wrapped it around herself. "Since you're not teasing me, I know you're telling the truth. Now get out!"

Soul nodded again, and staggered blindly in the direction he thought was the door. And he was, for she didn't scream at him to stop being an idiot, and he wasn't bumping into walls uncooly.

And, wouldn't you know it, he was but a step away when slippery tile floors worked their magic. The weapon felt impending doom as his feet slid out from under him and he fell to the floor in a flailing, "Gack!"ing mess. Soul looked up through a wince and...

_Oh_.

All the things he wasn't supposed to see, he saw. Not only did he see, but he gazed, examined, and memorized every single contour; every flaw. Every perfection.

At least, that's how it seemed to Maka. She turned bright red, ear to ear, and gave a strangled yelp, kicking her partner in the face. "PERVERT! JERK! SOUL, YOU IDIOT!"

It seemed that halfway to the floor, in mid-flail, he had... accidentally... grabbed a hold of Maka's now very useless towel. Soul jumped to react, scrambling out the door on hands and knees, his own face flushed a light scarlet.

"Sh-shut up!" he replied weakly as the door slammed behind him. "It's not like I did it on purpose! Who'd wanna peep at your freaking board--"

_**Ka-krakk.**_

"I'LL KILL YOU!" The door opened behind him once more, and fully-toweled, tomato-esque Maka appeared to radiate bloodthirst; a detached metal towel rod in hand. "MAKA CHOP!!"

* * *

Justin unplugged his earphones and stood between the two beds and their occupants, looking back and forth fretfully.

"Maka... please put that thing back in the wall... you're not supposed to tear it off... we might get sued... Ah, Soul, don't use a pillow to stop the blood! You have to _sleep_ on that!"

Swear to God, he would never leave them alone again.


	7. lights and tunnels

**Prompt**: Lights and Tunnels.

* * *

During these ferocious moments of insanity, all is black. I see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing but this plasurable, fierce rage. I can feel myself warping, my senses distorted, my once-clear thoughts crushed completely under the weight of malice.

It scares me that I love every minute.

But I am jerked into consciousness again in knowing that you are in the same rocking boat of insanity, and you can't handle it. If it's hard for me, I've no idea what you go through. Your grip on me is tense-- not a fearful tense, but one that insinuates a frightening excitement imploding upon your psyche.

I am proud of our bond; the way our soul wavelength's compatibility is astonishingly _brilliant_. But this is something I've never wished for us to share. This sickening torture you impose upon yourself for the good of humanity. Every hero has limits. Why won't you, for once, fall to yours? (It wouldn't be you, it wouldn't be right, but then at least you wouldn't be crossing blades with the insane, shrieking enemy; then at least you wouldn't have to rely on me to fish for your soul amidst all of this black blood. If you weren't so reckless you wouldn't have been infected in the first place. Admittedly, it was careless of me not to notice in the first place...)

Your swings are erratic, but meaningful, and your laugh pierces the core of me. And then I am struck by an epiphany, reverting back into the depths of our souls, and I see you (_you_) drifting in no particular direction. It doesn't matter which of us is consumed, the result is the same. My hand remains in a constant state of extension toward you. You have yet to see me, but I will not lose sight of your luminous form.

"Maka."

She who is my master: I tend to reach for her in the madness.


End file.
